


Your Love is My Drug

by keep_me_alone



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Sexual Situations, Batdad, Batdaddy, Batman uses the Most Impractical batmobile lets be real he's got like fifteen of them, Binge Drinking, Canon-Typical Violence, Daddy Issues, Daddy Kink, Drinking, Excessive Drinking, F/M, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Sexual Humor, Steph needs to calm the fuck down lmao, mostly humor and hc I think, steph definitely has some past trauma Things tho, the assault is lowkey for the setup, there's some weird consent things probably in this fic idfk, wasn't sure how to tag this bc it's Complicated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 20:09:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12991608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keep_me_alone/pseuds/keep_me_alone
Summary: Steph gets drunk and decides that she should sleep with Bruce. Bruce is not on board with this plan. However, he is all about rescuing people. ((This is Mostly a humour about daddy issues with a lot of weird/dark themes idk what I just wrote lmao))





	Your Love is My Drug

**Author's Note:**

> Read the tags for potential triggers and also just in general I think this is kind of a weird one. Good luck!

Steph was out drinking. She was in a club, writhing amongst sweaty twenty somethings, being groped by strange men when she realized that was not where she wanted to be. The flashing lights and deep bass were almost as intoxicating as her drink, but something was missing. She shoved her way through the crowd, her vision spinning slightly. Even among all these people, she was still alone.

She was mostly drunk, the cool night air didn’t bother her, despite her revealing outfit. She’d been looking to go home with some hot guy, but what if she went home with someone even hotter, and who also appreciated her as a person? She set off towards Wayne manor.

The walk was very long in her spiked heels, but she didn’t have money for a cab. She sobered up a little as she went, realizing that she’d chosen a fairly risky course of action. In this outfit, her only weapon was the small canister of pepper spray hidden in her tiny purse. She couldn’t run in her shoes. She was all dressed up and drunk to boot.

And then Steph heard footsteps behind her, because it was Gotham and _of course_ she did. She knew without looking that it was three men and in another five minutes, that they were following her. One of the men whistled at her. Her heart pounded in her chest, they were close enough that she could hear their lewd comments, their laughter. She breathed deeply, distancing herself from the situation. She was pretty drunk, maybe she just wouldn’t remember it tomorrow. Steph slid her hand into her purse, clutching the can of pepper spray. She turned a corner, inhaled sharply when a man stepped out in front of her.

“Where ya going sweetheart?” Snickered the man. He was dirty, smelled terrible with long greasy hair and patchy stubble. Steph reacted instinctively, she sprayed him. The man screamed, doubled over scrubbing at his eyes. “ _Bitch,”_ he stumbled after her, groping blindly, but Steph was already running. Trying to run. She made it about ten feet before one of her heels snapped. She fell to the ground, scraping her knee on the wet pavement. The other three men came around the corner, unhurried, still laughing, even when they saw their friend on the ground.

“Robby’s not gonna like you,” one of them said to her. They weren’t far now. Steph was scrambling backwards, a little too drunk to stand, a little too drunk to manage to get her shoes off. They were beautiful, impractical things made of straps and buckles.

A black car screamed down the road towards them. Tires squealing, it tore into the space between Steph and the men. She exhaled. Batman. He leapt out of the car and his first punch rendered one man unconscious. The next tried to run, but was easily caught, Batman slamming his face roughly against a wall, and when the man yelled, Batman did it again for good measure. Steph had crawled behind the car, fished out her vodka and resumed her drinking, so she didn’t see how he took out the third man, but she did see him kick the man she’d maced.

“You really gonna defend this broad?” one of them demanded incredulously. “Did you see what she was wearing?”

“Open your mouth again,” Batman snarled, “see what happens.”

“She’s just another stupid wh-,” Batman broke his nose. The man yelled, trying to cover his nose and prevented from doing so as Batman forced his arms behind his back. Steph grinned to herself. The night hadn’t turned out so bad after all. Bruce had come to rescue her like a knight in darkly shining armour _and_ she’d gotten to watch him beat the shit out of some rapists. She took a long, burning swallow of her vodka. Not bad at all. Bruce had tied up the pigs and was coming around to her. She stuffed the bottle back in her purse.

“Thanks for the rescue,” she said. Her tone was casual, despite the fact that she was still sitting on the wet ground, leaning against the Batmobile. Bruce knelt in front of her.

“Are you hurt?” He asked tersely.

“Nah, I’m good.” Bruce turned her face with two fingers on her chin.

“You’re bleeding.”

“Don’t feel it,” she shrugged lazily, the corner of her mouth pulled up when his thumb brushed the scrape. His touch was gentler than his voice, but she’d always know that would be true.

“Gotham isn’t safe.” He growled, standing.

“Mhmm, I feel like I’ve figured that out,”

“This was stupid,” she shrugged again, grabbing his outstretched hand and climbing to her feet. Her ankle twisted slightly when she put weight on it and she half fell, Bruce catching her and holding her close. Steph giggled. She’d forgotten her snapped off heel.

“Ankle?”

“Shoe,” she laughed at herself again. He leaned her carefully against the car and vaulted through the roof, standing in the car and intending to pull her up after him. It was more difficult than he’d expected. Her single heel definitely scratched the paint, and she was drunk enough that she was entirely unbalanced.  Just before he got her into the vehicle, Bruce realized they had another problem. This Batmobile wasn’t built for company. Robin was at home asleep, typical for a Tuesday night, and he hadn’t been expecting to pick anyone up.

“It’s going to be a little tight,” he told her. Steph snickered.

“Right,” She lowered herself into the car, hyper aware of their proximity. When Bruce held her legs to steady her, she lost her breath for a moment. Then she accidentally elbowed him in the mouth, causing him to let go and her to fall in a tangled heap on his lap. She half sat up, twining her arms around his neck. Automatically, Bruce put his hand on her back. Steph wiggled to get comfortable, tucking up her legs, insinuating herself against Bruce’s broad, powerful chest.

“I’m taking you to the Manor to get cleaned up,” Bruce informed her.

“Mhmm,” Steph existed in some sort of dream state. Everything was languid and slow, and here she was pressed against Bruce as he drove her home. She rested her cheek on his chest as he put the car in gear and sped away.

Bruce was well aware of what was going through Steph’s head. She might have thought she was being subtle, but she was well and truly intoxicated. He hated alcohol, was now considering banning it from the Manor for the foreseeable future. She cuddled in, somehow getting closer.

“Do you know how to drive stick?” He asked, inspiration striking. She shook her head no, nuzzling his neck. She tried, in her fuzzy, drunk brain, to find the innuendo in that. She knew there was a joke in there somewhere. “Watch,” he told her. Thankfully, they weren’t too far out now. He was explaining in his brief, peremptory way how to work the shift when Steph lost interest. She was drunk, unconcerned and sitting on the lap of a man who smelled amazing. She couldn’t identify what he smelled like in particular, but there was something unmistakeably ‘male’ about it. Steph sighed happily, burying her face in his neck. Bruce nearly crashed the car.

“Stop smelling my neck. I’m telling you something important,” he told her, eyes firmly on the road. Steph made a small disgruntled noise. She behaved the rest of the ride though, curled in his lap, leaning against his warm chest. She felt small and content. He was saying something, but she wasn’t listening, just focusing on the warm puff of his breath on her hair. She hummed, wiggling just a bit closer.

Far too soon for her liking, they’d pulled into the cave. Getting out of the car went about as well as either of them expected. Steph used Bruce’s hand as a boost and he pushed a little harder than necessary, sending her tumbling to the ground. Bruce sat in the car for just a moment, hand over his face before leaping out to join her. Steph was still sitting on the ground, grappling with her stupid shoes. She’d given up with the tiny buckles and straps, and instead was just trying to scrape them off. Bruce made a small noise.

“Stop,” he ordered her, “I’ll do it.” He pulled off his cowl and gloves, tossed them into the car. Steph hated to see them go. She really liked his gloves. He successfully unlaced the first shoe. His hands felt like a caress on the smooth skin of her bare leg. He set down her foot, picked up the other. Steph grinned, planting her bare foot on his shoulder, pushing it. Bruce raised his eyebrows.

“Behave.” Steph grinned widely, tilting her head to the side.

“Yessir.” Her foot thumped back down. She watched as he fumbled the strap he was holding. How nice to be taken care of, and she wasn’t even badly injured, a little too drunk to be properly traumatized, not quite present enough to care about that right now. Steph breezed past any thought of what had just happened, wondering if she could discreetly get more vodka into herself. Bruce removed her other shoe and helped her up.

There were rules against bringing Bat related anything into the upper levels of the mansion, but Bruce was fairly sure there wouldn’t be any visitors at three o’clock on a Wednesday morning. And given the likelihood of Alfred being asleep, there wouldn’t be anyone to scold him either.

Bruce smiled politely at Steph, offering his arm. Bruce Wayne, as opposed to Batman, had much more experience fending off drunken flirtations. Some days the persona was easier to find than others. Being worried as he was, still in the Batsuit even, he was having some difficulty.  They stepped into the elevator together, Bruce pretending not to notice that she was being clingier than strictly necessary.

Steph was giggly and having difficulty standing upright, even just in the elevator. She steadied herself with one hand pressed against Bruce’s chest. Steph was very pleased with this arrangement, hanging off of him as he lead her to a guest room. This was going better than she’d hoped.

“Just a moment,” Bruce told her, guiding her into one of the large armchairs in the room. Steph waited as she was told, initially kicking her legs idly, but stopping when she realized her knee was actually quite painful.

Bruce wasn’t gone long, he returned with a first aid kit, and icepacks. He left them on the small table next to her, ducking into the washroom and returning with a wet cloth. Bruce sat on the footstool across from her, murmuring for her to hold still as he carefully cleaned the blood off of her face. Steph watched his face as he worked, his eyes were intense, dark brows drawn slightly together. He looked up from her mouth, catching her, and made that ‘hn’ noise. Bruce pulled back slightly.

Steph thought he was going to say something about it, but instead his question was "Do you still have all your teeth?" Albeit said with some dark humour.

"I think?" Steph replied, just a little concerned about that one.

"Let me look." Bruce said, gently grabbing her chin. He opened her mouth, using his thumb to move first her top, then bottom lip out of the way. Step’s breath caught as she blushed. It was, she reflected, probably a weird thing to be turned on by. “Looks like you just cut your lip,” he told her, letting her go.

“Wanna kiss it better?” Steph asked impulsively. Bruce raised his eyebrows without replying. He handed her an ice pack.

“Hold this,” she took it, “on your face,” Bruce clarified, exasperated. Steph moved it accordingly, wincing slightly when it touched her tender skin. “Put your foot in my lap.” Bruce told her, regretting the words even as they were coming out of his mouth. Steph smirked, planting her foot solidly on his crotch. Bruce immediately moved it, thankful that he was still in the Batsuit because otherwise that would probably have been _quite_ uncomfortable. Steph giggled and tried to rub him with her foot, without much success, owing to the fact that she was very drunk and more than a little uncoordinated. Bruce briefly wondered who had taught her to how flirt and why they hadn’t done a better job of it. He looked up at her, his head still partially ducked.

“I need you to hold still just a little longer Steph. You’re making this hard for me.” By the look on her face, he’d overdone that. The innuendo hadn’t been intentional. Bruce cursed internally.  It worked though. Steph stopped moving, at least until he sprayed her knee with alcohol.

“Ow,” she whined, pulling her knee back up to her chest, which had the added unfortunate effect of displacing her skirt. Bruce stood quickly, his cheeks just slightly pink. That was a lot more than he’d wanted to see. He packed up the kit, leaving the other icepack in case Steph wanted it for her knee. It didn’t look too bad though.

“There are nightclothes in the dresser,” Bruce told her. Steph got up to stand in front of him, and Bruce stopped himself from reflexively stepping back. She was well into his space. “I’ll be down the hall if you need me.”

“What if I need you now?” Steph asked, arching an eyebrow.

“Steph-,” Bruce’s tone was warning.

“You’re really gonna tell me you’re not interested, huh?” Steph asked, smirking. She took a small step forward, placing her hands lightly on his chest, looking up at him. Their faces were close.

“I prefer my women a little older,” he said firmly, grabbing her wrist.

“And do you think Bruce Wayne Billionaire Playboy would agree with that assessment?” She bit her lip.

“I’m sorry,” he replied blithely, “you must be 25 or older to ride this ride.” He was spending too much time with his delinquent children. That was almost something Dick or Jason would’ve said.

“And how old’s Selina?” Steph asked smoothly, noticing that he still hadn’t let go of her wrist, the warmth of his hand on her.

“Older than you.” Bruce noticed too, and released her.

“You’re no fun at all,” Steph sulked, crossing her arms.

“Aren’t you dating one of my sons?” Bruce asked in return. “That basically makes me your father.” He realized immediately, that this was the wrong thing to say. Steph laughed.

“Am I misbehaving, daddy?” Bruce looked at her for a long moment without speaking. Briefly, he wondered how drunk Steph really was, and how exactly she’d gotten this drunk. He was definitely banning alcohol from the manor now.

“That’s enough.” This was getting out of hand. Bruce stepped towards her. He tossed her over his shoulder, gratified by her surprised yelp. Steph was disoriented. She wondered where Bruce was taking her, if it was to his room, and felt a rush of excitement mixed with apprehension. Bruce was absolutely not doing that. He carried her into the bathroom, and still holding her, turned on the shower, more cold than warm.

“Bruce?” He didn’t reply. With minimal difficulty, Bruce let Steph down, and before she’d quite got her bearings, had pushed her into the shower with one hand. Steph shrieked as she was soaked by the cold water. She sputtered, spitting out water as she pushed fruitlessly at Bruce’s arm. “Let me out!” She yelled, water running down her face.

“Time to sober up.” He told her, still holding her under the water. He hoped she hadn’t woken anyone up.

“Ok! Ok!” She agreed quickly. Bruce held her shoulder a moment longer before releasing her. Steph practically leapt out of the shower, stumbling just a bit as Bruce turned it off. Steph was soaked and shivering, her shoulders up near her ears. “Can I have a towel?” She asked plaintively. Bruce felt an unwanted stab of sympathy. He nodded and pulled one out for her. Steph looked more than a little pathetic, dripping on the tiles like that. Some protective instinct overrode his better judgement, and rather than handing it to her, he wrapped the towel around her shoulders.

“If you need help getting dressed, I’ll call Alfred. He’s the butler, that’s _his_ job.” He squeezed her shoulder. “ _My_ job is to keep you safe. Which I believe I’ve done.” He intended to leave her in the bathroom, but she followed him out.

“Bruce?”

“Please don’t get undressed until I actually leave the room,” he responded wryly. He did pause to look at her though. She seemed to have shrunk a little, suddenly unsure.

“You’re gonna be mad at me tomorrow, huh?” Her face was startlingly swollen where she’d hit it earlier, a bruise beginning to bloom on her cheek. She looked hurt. In more ways than one.

“No.” Bruce replied. “You’re drunk. Go to sleep, It’s fine.” And Bruce was a little bit surprised to find that he actually meant that. He really didn’t want to talk about it later. Or ever. It was kind of how he dealt with most things and there wasn’t a real reason that this should be the exception.

 


End file.
